


Seeing Things

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [28]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Barbecue, Bonding, Bullying, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Cute Dean, F/M, Plotty, Siblings, Souls, Spell Failure, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Teen Angst, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: All of Buffy's friends are over for a fall barbecue, when Spike crashes the party with some bad news.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place in mid November, three weeks after chapter 21. If you’re not caught up on the Girl Next Door series, in chapter 5, which happens the day before this, Sam went on his first date with the neighbor, Jada, while Dean watched horror movies with her sick, elderly aunt.

Willow moved a stack of books from her dresser to the floor, granting her a better view inside the box of tangled necklaces.

Buffy popped in, rifling through her own jewelry box. “Pink and purple, right?”

“Yeah,” Willow said, searching through her underwear drawer for good measure. Tara had a necklace with a spike of rose quartz and vial of small amethyst crystals, but it was missing. Willow hadn’t even thought about the necklace since sorting Tara’s things a few weeks prior, but she’d wanted to wear it today. Discovering it was missing was stressing her out.

The stress must have showed. Buffy rested a hand on her back. “Will, it didn’t fly off. We’ll find it, okay?”

Willow nodded and decided to distract herself with a different problem. “I need more bookshelves. There?” She pointed at the only spot in the room where a bookshelf could possibly fit. The new task filled her with excitement. “Ooh, and then I can get all Dewey Decimal with my histories and biographies and spell – You’re making a face.”

Biting her lips, Buffy shook her head.

“Fine.” Ever the proud geek, Willow stuck out her tongue. “I’ll hold off on the thrilling book organization discussion until Sam gets here.”

Buffy turned from left to right, taking in all the precarious piles. “I’d do it by color. Browns here. Blacks there. Other colors on one tiny shelf. Like a goth’s closet.”

Sorting her Harry Potter from King Arthur and _Healing Spells_ from _A History of Magicks_ , a green volume caught Willow’s eye – _Finding_. It was Tara’s, the volume that taught her the spell to locate demons and the spell that revealed Dawn’s fabricated nature to Buffy. Maybe there was a simple spell inside to help her find her necklace?

Flipping through the pages, she settled on a page boasting a spell for the lost struggling to find their way home.

*****

Buffy was mid-sentence when Willow, sporting a riveted stare, curled up in the papasan chair with a book. Leaving her friend to her moment of book nerd bliss, Buffy quietly backed out of the room.

Across the hall was another matter. Buffy opened the bedroom door without knocking to find Dawn sprawled on the bed, journaling.

The teen quickly shoved the book under a pillow and glowered at her sister. “Is zero privacy part of the grounding?”

“I don’t want to read your stupid diary, anyway.” She tried to put on her best I-can-smell-a-lie mom-face. “A necklace is missing. Tara’s. Pink and purple. Ring a bell?”

“I wouldn’t take any of Tara’s stuff.”

“Good to know you have some boundaries.”

Dawn, lip fat, bruises angry, looked away.  

Buffy sighed. Maybe reading her diary wouldn’t be such a bad idea? “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Not your business.”

“Everything about you is my business. Maybe I should call the guys? Tell them we’ll barbecue another day while you and I –”

“No! I mean, don’t you want to see Dean? It’s been, like, a day and a half. Won’t you die if you go a full forty-eight hours apart?”

“Har har.” Getting nowhere, Buffy headed downstairs to see if they even had any proper barbecue food. By the time she counted her zero buns, maybe enough hamburger for three patties, and highly suspect condiments, the Winchesters had arrived.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Dean, with his bright smile and sparkling eyes, entered the room like a welcome breeze. He leaned in for a kiss, a comfortable kiss. The kiss of someone who fit in her arms, her house, her life and knew it was where he belonged.

Dawn may be annoying, but she was right. Buffy would have burst if she had to wait any longer to see him.

Vacation, a quick jaunt to San Francisco on Halloween, had been exactly what they needed to sort out some of their issues. Their hotel had become something of a confessional: an unfamiliar space, small and intimate for divulging fears, failures and hopes…in between the marathon sex. Since coming back two weeks ago, they’d been inseparable; last night had been the first he hadn’t stayed with her.

Buffy noticed Sam hanging back in the doorway. “How was the date?” she asked.

Sam smiled so wide, his dimples came out. “Pretty good. Definitely doing it again when we can.”

She pouted at Dean. “More old lady sitting then?”

“Hey guys!” said Dawn, walking into the room wearing her first smile in days.

“Hey, kid!”

“Hey, Dawnie!” Sam, quickly scanning her injuries, gave her a bear hug that set her squealing as her feet left the ground.

By his own confession, Dean had spent more time in trouble than in class. Buffy hoped he could provide some insight into Dawn’s recent troubling behavior. “Dawn, could you go outside for a bit?”

“I’ll go with you, Dawn,” said Sam.

Before he could follow her outside, Willow dashed into the room, her eyes wide with excitement. She grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him back toward the stairs. “I have to show you something!”

* * *

 

By the time they got to Willow’s room, Sam was biting back a laugh. “Is it a new book? I’m guessing it’s a new book.”

“Old book, actually.” Willow handed him a green book titled _Finding_. “It’s full of spells for, well, finding things. There’s this pathways spell that will show you the way home when you’ve lost the path. I thought we could try it, see if we can find the doorway you used to come here.”

The idea of going home held bittersweet appeal. Neither Sam nor Dean wanted to leave their stable, angel-free lives. Add to the mix the idea of abandoning their new friends, of leaving Jada. Nothing was going to yank Dean away from Buffy; they’d overcome too much.

But they had old friends. Things could not be good for Bobby, if he were even still alive. The idea churned Sam’s stomach. The Apocalypse raged on without them. While they didn’t want to turn themselves over to Michael and Lucifer, could anyone else stop it?

Sam examined the book. It had a floral embossed cover and etchings of flowers every twenty pages or so. For a spellbook, it wasn’t very old, eighty years maybe. It almost looked like a cookbook – spell title, country of origin, ingredients, duration.

Willow, bouncing on her toes, looked at him expectantly. “Cool, right?”

“Have you done any spells from this book?”

Her face fell a bit. Her ability to control her magic was still a sensitive topic. “Yeah, they were hitchless. No hitches. Hitch-free even.”

Sam grinned. “That word means less the more you say it. It’s like you have the hiccups.”

The pathways spell said it originated in pre-Islamic Turkey. From his many years transcribing, Sam knew Ottoman Turkish wasn’t the smoothest translation to English; yet, the spell rhymed. Still, it seemed simple enough.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he said.

* * *

 

“And then she said President Randy Jackson was on the twenty. Randy. Jackson. Like, I don’t know how she’s not more embarrassed to talk. She always says the wrong thing.” Dawn’s face fell. “But she’s a pretty blonde cheerleader, so none of the boys seem to care.”

“Knowing a decent number of presidents never got me a date in high school, either Dawn,” Xander said. He and Anya had arrived to find Dawn lounging alone in the backyard while the rest of the house was locked away in the bedrooms. Leaving Anya inside with the remote, Xander enlisted Dawn’s help searching the garage for charcoal.

“Are the popular girls taking some sort of potion? Is it like RJ’s jacket? They’re mean, and no one cares. They’re dumb, and no one cares. They don’t even have zits,” she said, pointing emphatically at the giant pimple on her chin.

“You only know half of the secret. True, they live charmed lives at teenagers, but adulthood with all of its expectations and door-slamming can be hard on the zitless. You should have seen RJ’s brother. Oh, how the studly have fallen.

“Speaking of fallen–” He pointed to her bruised face. “Encounter with the stairs?”

Dawn hung her head and muttered, “I got in a fight.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It shouldn’t even count as a fight. I mean, I have the marks!”

Xander wasn’t sure what to say. Dawn hadn’t been quite the same since the RJ incident, but he hadn’t expected fights. “And the marks happened how?”

Dawn sighed and sat on the garage floor, a crumpled, defeated girl. “Dawn-wheeling sort of snowballed. Now whenever anyone does anything embarrassing, they get called ‘Dawn.’ I thought I could deal, but then my friends sort of turned on me.”

“The basement crew from the first day of school?”

“We were talking at lunch last week, and I mentioned the ghosts from that day. They looked at me like I was a freak. They both said we just got lost, that nothing else happened. Then they told other kids and other kids, and now they all think I’m psycho.” She rested her head on her folded arms.

He remembered the hyena incident and how most of his “pack” denied that it happened. Sunnydale being a small town, he’d run into more than one former classmate who referred to their demon-fighting graduation as merely “a wild time.” At least he’d had the rest of the Scooby gang to reassure him he wasn’t crazy.

“This stuff is hard for people to accept.”

Dawn lifted her head, tears rolling heavy down her cheeks. “Stacey Bouché cornered me in the locker room after gym. She started saying all this stuff about how crazy runs in the Summers family, and her mom was going to get Buffy fired. She told me I was going to grow up to be a loser like my sister, and I - I pushed her. One of her lackeys punched me, but they all told the gym teacher I started it. I have detention all next week.”

Xander gave her a hug, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Let’s make a deal, okay? You keep your nose clean, no more pushing, keep your grades up – How are those by the way?”

“Straight As.”

“Keep on keepin’ on in the grades department, and we’ll find you a Hellmouth free college where no one knows you.”

“Buffy can’t afford to send me to college.”

“We’ll make it work, okay? We owe you a slice of normal.”

Dawn wiped her face and smiled weakly.

They rolled the small grill outside and set to cleaning off several years of spiders and dust. Soon, Buffy and Dean joined them outside.

“I have a bag of charcoal briquettes, which sound like a fancy French pastry, but probably taste like a pencil,” said Xander. “What’s on the menu?”

“I only said I found the old grill. You guys assumed we’d be cooking on it,” Buffy said.

“Man need flame-broiled meat!” said Xander, beating his chest. “C’mon, Dean, let’s prove our prowess as hunters by picking up some burgers at the supermarket.”

“I’m drivin’.”

“I wanna go!” Dawn piped up.

The guys looked to Buffy who snapped, “You’re still super grounded.”

“Oh no, don’t let me go to the grocery store. I might have fun.” Dawn crossed her arms and pouted.

“We’ll see you guys in a bit,” said Buffy, shooing Dean and Xander away before glaring at her sister. “Fine, Dawn. You wanna fight? Let’s fight.”

* * *

 

Buffy didn’t even have to move her feet to dodge the blow. “Stop projecting and hit me!”

Dawn frowned, her arms limp and noodly at her sides. “Can’t I just carry a crossbow at school? I know how to work one of those.”

“So we can be further fuel for the teacher’s lounge gossip club?” If Dawn was going to get in fights at school, Buffy wanted her to at least escape with fewer bruises.

“Hey Sam! Wanna fight?” Buffy hoped he’d be game for some blocking demonstrations.

Sam, leaning on the porch railing and chatting with Anya, suddenly stiffened.

“I don’t think he wants his testicles messed with today,” said Anya. “At least not how you do it. He hasn’t told me what base his date ended up on.”

“Thanks, Anya,” Sam said as he stepped into the yard.  

“I promise to not throw or break you, unless you go all puppet-of-evil again.”

“Buzzkill,” he said with a grin.

Turning to her sister, Buffy said, “Now watch how I block him and use his weight against him. You’ll try next.”

* * *

 

Dean and Xander had decided to split grocery stockage between them. It seemed only fair since they ate at Buffy’s house more often than not. Burdened with bags, Dean continued their car conversation as they walked through the backyard. “I can’t believe you never left California, Xander. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice an’ all, but don’t you wanna see the rest of the country?”

“The world’s largest ball of string does have some appeal. Why is it there? Who made it? Where is it?”

“Cawker City, Kansas, the townspeople, boredom,” Sam said as he opened the back door for them. “I’ve seen it six times. Boring as shit.”

“Actually, it’s a sacrifice to a Slaar. They collect weird odds and ends like scaly nesting birds,” said Anya. “The townspeople can either give it things they don’t want, or it will start taking things they’re using, which sounds like a cute little dormouse situation until the springs in your car disappear.”

“Now I have to see it,” said Xander, setting his load on the kitchen island, his hand lightly brushing against Anya’s fingers.

She gazed at him softly and tried to hold back a smile.

Willow shuffled in yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Willow, have you ever left California?” Dean asked.

“Florida trip when I was ten. Mom was at a conference in Orlando, and Dad could only take me to educational things. Kennedy Space Center? Okay. Disney World for the girl who desperately wanted to be a mermaid? Absolutely not.”

“I remember that,” said Xander, tearing his gaze from Anya. “You brought me a – Whoa! What happened to your eyes?”

Willow’s big hazel eyes glowed electric blue. “Funny story. Sam and I were doing that spell to reveal a path back to wherever he came from, and, short story, it didn’t work.”

“Bad translation,” Sam added.

“On the bright side, I think I can see people’s auras or souls or something. Tara was better at this sort of thing that me. I’ll check her books later when you all stop being so shiny. It’s giving me a headache right now.”

“Auras? What color am I?” Xander asked. “Please tell me it’s a manly color.”

“I’m not telling anyone until I research.” She lifted her nose in the air to emphasize her determination.

“Wow, you sound just like Sam,” Dean muttered.

Willow giggled. “You and Buffy have matching glowys. It’s cute! Like little salt and pepper shakers.”

“D’aaawww,” cooed Sam, clearly enjoying his brother’s discomfort.

“Okay, everyone who’s not helping make food can leave now,” said Dean, trying to cover his blushing with gruffness.

Willow shrugged and ambled into the backyard where the Summers sisters continued fight training.

Sam pulled a beer from the fresh six-pack on the table and, smirking at his brother, leaned on the kitchen counter. “I’m helping.”   

* * *

 

Xander rolled around the living room floor, moaning, “Oh God, it hurts. It hurts!”

“You should try eating less,” suggested Anya, sitting beside him. “Would it help if I pushed on your stomach?”

“No! No. Burgers sooo gooood.”

The sun had set an hour ago. Willow and Dawn were setting up laptops and books to keep working on Project Demon Database. To everyone’s surprise, Anya, pleased with the idea of “less boring book time” had agreed to share some of her knowledge of demons.

Buffy and the Winchesters were gearing up for what they expected to be a busy patrol.

“Sam, we got any more holy water in the car?” Dean asked, holding up the last bottle from Buffy’s stash.

Before he could answer, someone knocked on the door. “This can’t be good,” Buffy said, cracking it open, “and it’s not.”

Before Dean could see who it was, but he heard a cockney accent saying with a tone of puppy-like devotion, “Buffy! Good. Good, you’re still ‘ere. I was ‘oping that maybe we could – Why the ‘ell is ‘e ‘ere?” Spike glared at Dean who was now standing behind Buffy.

“He’s here because I invited him. I don’t remember inviting you.”

Spike’s soft, longing expression had turned sour the moment he’d laid eyes on Dean. His body language shifted from eager desire to cold disregard. His voice now hard and sarcastic. “Don’t forget you ‘aven’t uninvited me either, pet.”

“Unless you tell me why you’re here, I’m closing this door in three-two–”

“Thought you’d want to know there’s a fang gang doing a blood run at The Bronze, but if you an’ the missus were about to go bowling, I’ll shove off.”

“It’s a little early for a blood binge. How many vamps?”

“Maybe two dozen. Club’s packed with tastys.”

“Dean, round everyone up. We have a party to crash.”

* * *

 

Despite the fact that Xander had been moaning on the floor when Spike had arrived, he, his ex-demon ex, and the newly blue-eyed witch hopped in his car and took off before the rest of the gang. This left Dean and the Summers girls in the front of a massive old car and Spike in the back with Sam.

Sam wasn’t a preening peacock like his brother, but leaning against the door facing Spike, his jaw clenched, eyes cold, yet casual as could be, Spike could tell he was a killer. They eyed each other with cool suspicion.

“This is a nice car. ‘66? ‘67?” Spike meant it. The great black Chevy looked like it had been recently waxed, the chrome brilliant, the leather seats worn but expertly patched. If this car was Dean’s he certainly knew how to care for something.

“It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala sedan,” said Dawn.

“When’d you become a motorhead, spark plug?”

“Dean’s been teaching me about engines. He knows lots of things.” Her voice was bright. Charmed. The way she used to speak about Spike.

“Used to drive a ‘59 DeSoto Fireflite. Had to give it up a couple years ago. Gorgeous car, that was.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “That’s a classic. Sweet fins. How’d you get your hands on a ride like that?”

“Same way I got my hands on anything. I ate the owner,” Spike said, running his fingers over a green army figure wedged in the ashtray. “If I was the same person I was a few years ago, I’d eat you, take off in this pretty piece. Lucky you, I’m a better man now.”

“Man?” said Sam sarcastically.

“I’d like to see your poofy ass try that,” said Dean.

“What? You think because you tussle ‘ere an’ there with some fresh corpses that you can get your boot on my neck? I’ve got news for you, boy band, I’m a ‘ell of a lot older than what you’re used to. I’m in your bleedin’ ‘istory books, and it’s a whisper-‘round-the-campfire horror story. So, yeah, lucky for you.”

“Is he still talkin’, Sammy?”

“Listen you pompous git, once we rescue the snack pack, you and I are ‘aving a go. Already know I can ‘urt you, so let’s see how much damage I can do to that pretty little–”

“Pull over,” Buffy demanded.

“But there’s a pack a poofies–”

“Yet I have to deal with Tweedles Dum and Dee. Pull over.”

Dean stopped on the side of the road where Buffy insisted he and Spike get out. She stood by the trunk, arms crossed and eyes ablaze. “Do you think I’m something that can be won? Do you think that when I’m not with someone I sit around crying until the first guy notices me, then BAM! I’m in his bed? Because you’re acting like my decisions are swayed by stupid antics.

“Almost every time you two have met, I’ve had to bandage one of you. If you start fighting again, you’re both banned from my house. Got it?”

“Both?”

“Yes, Dean. Both. Now can we get with the saving, or do you two want to test me?” Buffy climbed back into the middle of the front seat.

Dean stood by his door and glared at Spike. “Billy, get in or I’m leaving you.”

The rest of the ride was silent.

When they arrived, Buffy quickly took out the vampires guarding the doors. Willow remained outside producing a magic field around the front door that would let people out but keep vampires in. Once inside, Xander, Anya, and Dawn immediately set to evacuating the club.

Only a couple people had been bitten as the heads of the three nests conducting the feast squabbled over who deserved to eat more people.

“How about you all go on a diet?” Buffy snarked, and they were off in a whirlwind of stakes, machetes, and pool cues used with deadly efficiency.

Even with his soul returned, Spike loved a good brawl. He loved feeling his borrowed blood rushing through his veins. He loved the crunch of bone, the spray of spit, the tear of skin. It made him feel alive again.

The demon rose within him, showing its face. Spike grabbed a vampire by the back of the neck and pounded its face into a pillar, blood spraying the people running past screaming. Putting the vampire in a headlock, Spike dragged it to the pool table and staked it with a cue.

“Pool cue?” said Dean, who’d just decapitated a vamp nearby.

Spike licked his fangs. “Ever prepared Boy Scout that I am.”

Sam, back-to-back with his brother, tossed Spike a folding knife, one of those slim wood-handled ones a hunter would use for skinning. “If you need a hand and run out of cues, should buy you a moment,” Sam said.

Buffy was surrounded on the stage by the three vampires in charge. Fast, unpredictable and powerful, she was a lightning storm. She could knock vamps off their feet, and they’d think it was the most beautiful way to die. Before his soul, before he loved her, she’d been Spike’s favorite dance partner.

The Winchesters were a new element. Spike had expected them to be wooden like Riley. Catch a bad guy, get a medal. Regimented. Stiff. Men that size lumber when they fight, all strength, no stealth. But a forest of wooden soldiers would bow before the cold, unavoidable, smothering avalanche of the Winchesters. They moved nearly in sync; with strength and brutality, yes, but also inevitability. After watching the brothers take out a few vampires, Spike felt less certain he would have been able to steal Dean’s Impala. He had the strong feeling that if Buffy wasn’t standing in the way, they would have hunted him down by now.

By the time all of the people had been rescued and the vampires dusted, Dean was in great spirits, teasing Buffy. After staking a vamp that was threatening Dawn, Buffy had been thrown across the room, landing on a table where people had been playing beer pong.

“It could be worse, Buffy,” Dean said, sniffing her. “Nah, that’s Budweiser. It couldn’t be worse. C’mon. I got a blanket in the trunk.”

They drove back home, Dean with his arm around Buffy, her beer-soaked head snuggled against his shoulder. “Dawn–”

“I know! I’m sorry. I’ll do your laundry, alright?”

“Last time you washed my clothes, you shrunk everything. No, I wanted to say you did a good job back there. If you hadn’t been able to hold that vamp off that long, I may not have gotten to you.” Buffy reached out a hand to ruffle her sister’s hair.

“Oh God, you reek!”

“Did I hear you want a hug? I think you want a hug.” Sliding across the bench seat, she embraced her squealing sister, giggling the rest of the drive.

Once they arrived back at the Summers’ place, Buffy and Dean disappeared upstairs. Dawn went to change, and Anya searched for the first aid kit to attend a cut over Xander’s eye. No one told Spike to leave, so he snuck into the living room where Sam, Xander, and Willow huddled on the couch.

“What’s the deal with the new peepers, Red?” Spike asked.

“Spell gone wrong. It’s wearing off, which is nice. Seeing all the souls gives me a headache.”

“You’re seeing souls? You’re not pulling my leg?” Spike leaned forward, eager to hear more.

Her eyes darted from Sam to Spike. “I’m seeing…something. I’m not sure what. I’ll research it later when my head’s not pounding, but…” She wrung her hands and looked at the floor.

Anya returned to bandage Xander’s cut.

“But what? I’d sure as ‘ell like to know what you see in me. Can’t be worse than what I imagine.”

“Sam,” she said, “I could see it. I could see this roiling black smoke.”

“You think it was the demons that control the vampires?” Sam asked.

“Excuse me,” interjected Anya, roughly applying the bandage as Xander winced, “not full demons. Disgusting half-breeds.”

“Right here!” said Spike.

“Maybe.” Willow nervously fidgeting, avoided looking at anyone. “Hey, who wants snacks? Snacks sound great! I’ll get snacks!”

“Get plenty of beer for Buffy!” Xander shouted.

“No beer!” Dawn complained coming down the stairs in cat pajamas. “Why couldn’t she have landed on a table full of nachos?”

“The cheese would be terrible to get out of her hair, I imagine,” said Anya, perching on the arm of the couch.

“Have you ever smelled old nacho cheese?” Sam asked. “It’s like sniffing the inside of a sneaker. God knows what that stuff is actually made of.”

“I’d still rather smell like nachos than beer,” Dawn said, curling up on the floor with a blanket.

“Mozzarella sticks. It’s a cheese of known origin, and it comes with a marinara accessory.” Xander smiled proudly over his choice.

“I’d have gone with buffalo wings,” said Anya. “Spicy and creamy with a celery snack so you can pretend you’re healthy. Although, the idea of winged bovine kind of freaks me out.”

“Bloomin’ onion thing all the way,” insisted Spike.

“Who in their right minds wants to smell like onions?”

“Who wants to smell like cheese?”

“What are we talkin’ about?” Dean asked, leaning in the doorway, the stench of sex wafting off him. Spike wondered if any of the humans could smell it, but they all just turned to Dean with smiles, happy to have him with them again.

Spike replied, “What we’d rather smell like, bar-food wise.”

“Easy. Whiskey.” Dean plopped down in the armchair across from Spike. He nearly swaggered, at ease in this house, Buffy’s house, where he didn’t just spend nights with her but also days living in her world in a way Spike, creature of the night, never could.

Dawn scooted close to Dean and struck up a conversation, laughing and smiling, enjoying being near him. She was comfortable. Other than tonight, the last time she’d spoken to Spike, she’d threatened to set him on fire if he hurt Buffy again.

Fresh from the shower, Buffy joined them, and finding all the seats taken, settled into her boyfriend’s lap, her fingers idly playing with his hair while they enjoyed the company of their friends.

Having zero desire to spend another minute watching their cozy moment, Spike sought out Willow in the kitchen. “Need a ‘and?”

Staring intensely at the window, she jumped a little at the sound of his voice before tossing a bag of popcorn in the microwave. “Oh hey, um, could you get one of the big bowls for me? They’re up there.”

Spike found a large metal bowl on one of the top shelves. He wasn’t sure if it was for baking or conjuring, but tonight it was for popcorn.

The microwave beeped. Avoiding eye contact, Willow handed him the steaming bag then put another one in. “I guess you can do this on the stove. It would probably be faster that way, but I’m not sure how it works.”

“Fascinating,” he deadpanned, dumping the hot popcorn in the bowl. “What do the souls look like?”

“Well, I don’t know that it’s souls specifically that I’m seeing, and I haven’t really given anyone de–”

“Tell them or don’t, but tell me. You’ve never had it ripped from you, Red. You never had to prove yourself worthy. You don’t know how precious it is,” Spike said.

She calmly handed him a second finished bag. “No one else in this house ever volunteered to give it up either.”

Spike nodded. He had made that choice in ignorance, in panic. “I’m just wondering if it’s damaged, is all. Is it cracked or missing pieces? I just…I don’t want my dark side to take over again.”

Willow took a tub of sour cream and onion dip from the fridge. She stared at the tub for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, “Everyone has some sort of glow. Xander, Anya, it’s like a nightlight in their chests, steady and comforting. But some people are radiant, like they’ve swallowed the sun – Buffy, Dean–”

“Oh, perfect Dean’s a golden boy now? Fantastic! This sun, is it shining out of his ass?”

She set the tub on the counter and grabbed a half empty bag of potato chips. “You’re shiny, too.”

“Oh,” said Spike, taken aback. “Shiny like the sun or like a disco ball? ‘Cause sparkly just sort of destroys the vampire image.”

“Tainted.” The word hung in the air like a foul stench.

 _Tainted_. Spike had blood stains so deep his hands would never be clean, but knowing it and hearing someone else say it were different pains.

She continued, “You know how when you were a kid and you’d decided to mix the Play-Doh colors togeth – oh, right, you’re super old.”

“I’m not older than color, thank you very much,” Spike said with disdain.

She nodded, happy to continue her analogy. “Okay, well, let’s say you have yellow and you have purple – both great colors – and you think they’d be even better together. So you’re rolling out the snake and kneading the dough,” she eagerly gestured both, “and for a moment it’s all marbled and pretty. But eventually, it’s just brown and blah. The yellow and purple you liked so much are gone forever.”

“You’re saying my soul is…brown?” Spike asked, unsure of why the color mattered.

Willow took a deep breath as sadness settled into her eyes. “I’m saying that you have a soul – this bright, strong thing – but you still have a demon, Spike. You’re like spotted mercury glass. I could see this black smoke in you the same as the other vampires, only they didn’t have the glowies.”

“I know that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Still a vampire!”

“And you’ll always be a vampire.” She picked up the bowl full of popcorn.

The finality of her statement stung. “I’m more than that, though.”

“You help, yeah. You got your soul back, great. But, Spike, the demon is still in you. The demon that wants to feed off people. The demon that tried to rape Buffy.”

“Hey, that wasn’t–”

“I know it wasn’t _you_. The only reason you’re still allowed in this house is because Buffy understands there’s a difference between your demon and human sides. You’re here at her mercy. But that demon is still in you, swirling around and trying to choke your soul. You can’t be yellow and purple anymore. You’re all mixed up inside.” Something cold hardened Willow’s face.

“You think I could do it again,” Spike said.

“We’re ready if you do,” she said. “Could you grab the chips and dip?”

She walked into the living room where her friends cheered at the sight of food while Spike quietly slipped out the backdoor.

* * *

 

It was a little after two in the morning when Dean woke up thirsty. He padded past Xander in a sleeping bag on the floor and Anya tossing on the couch. Through the kitchen window, he saw a gaunt blonde in a leather jacket smoking on the back porch.

When Dean first learned Spike, the mysterious stranger, was a vampire, all he could think of was Ruby. How she’d played them with her baddie-trying-to-be-good routine. Like Buffy, Sam had wanted to believe in redemption, had wanted an ally in their never-ending fight.

Despite his normally suspicious nature, Dean trusted Buffy when she said rehabbing Spike was a win against Hell. After all, he’d felt the gashes in his soul healing since arriving in Sunnydale. Much as he despised monsters, he couldn’t deny Buffy that goal.

The night Dean caught Sam and Ruby – tugging on Sam’s heart, preying on his weaknesses, turning him into a blood junkie – in a hotel room, his baby brother had turned against him. “You don’t know me. You never did. And you never will.”

When he discovered Spike was Buffy’s ex, Dean wondered if the Buffy he thought he knew was real at all.

Although Dean had been in her shoes, back from the dead, confused, disoriented, he had his brother and Bobby to lean on as he remembered how to be a person again. How to shake off Hell. For Buffy, her friends were too busy congratulating themselves to understand anything was wrong, and that longing for the peace of death took her down the dark path to Spike. She didn’t speak well of that time, but Spike had helped her navigate those rough waters. For that, Dean was grateful.  

Quietly opening the back door and sitting down beside the vampire he said, “You know, creepin’ on your ex’s porch in the middle of the night ain’t a sign of mental stability.”

The stub of Spike’s cigarette had burned nearly to the filter. The vampire stared at the coiling smoke as if divining. When the burning cherry hit his fingers with a sizzle, he calmly dropped it in the grass and ground it out with his boot.

“I had you pegged wrong,” Spike said. “‘undred years of observing people, that doesn’t ‘appen often.”

Spike closed his eyes, his body still and meditative. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft, apologetic. “Man like you always on the go about the country, I thought you couldn’t ‘andle the ‘orrors, but you’re not running. You’re staying.”

“That’s not confusing at all,” Dean said, leaning against the porch railing.

“Your mum died, so you followed your dad, right? ‘e got you into this life, you and your brother traveling around in that Impala since you were barely big enough to piss on a vamp. You may move about, but you always stay with family, with the people you love.”

“What else is there?”

Spike nodded. A chilly wind kicked up, whispering of winter, rustling the trees and knocking off their golden leaves. “My dad died when I was young. Left enough money for me mum an’ I to get by. It was just the two of us for the longest time, though she was on me to settle down. ‘I need a grandchild on my lap before I pass, William.’ I thought I ‘ad more time.”

Dean had always thought of monsters like animals. He knew their feeding and hunting habits. Their weaknesses. How they were made. Vampires, both in Sunnydale and home, were social, building nests and choosing partners. It hadn’t occurred to him maybe they were rebuilding the families they had lost.

Here Spike sat alone.

Lighting another cigarette, Spike looked Dean up and down.

“You a Zeppelin fan?” Spike asked, eyeing Dean’s shirt. “Saw them twice in ‘77. God, what a show.”

“Seventy-seven? Heard that was a hell of a tour.”

“You bet your ass it was. Lot of shameful things about being a vampire, lots of regrets, but at least I got to see rock and roll in its glory days. It’s like the universe thanked me for sitting through so many fucking piano recitals when I was alive. Mewling Victorian shit.”

Dean went back to the kitchen and returned with two beers. Handing one to Spike, he asked, “You ever get to see Queen when Freddie was alive?”


End file.
